


Drinks, Debates, and Darkness

by Am-Chau (Vacillating)



Category: West Wing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacillating/pseuds/Am-Chau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh and Sam… yeah, just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinks, Debates, and Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> expertly betaed by Likethesun and Britt Rose

### Drinks, Debates, and Darkness

by Am-Chau Yarkona  
rating: no worse than the show, so perhaps a 12  
summary: Josh and Sam… yeah, just that.  
notes: expertly betaed by Likethesun and Britt Rose  


* * *

"He's drunk," Sam said apologetically to the middle-age female  
face which peered belligerently down the hall at them. When she  
had disappeared, he turned his attention back to Josh's fumblings  
with the door key.

Josh tried once more to unlock the door, but… "It keeps  
moving," he grumbled, leaning on the door to keep from falling  
over.

"Allow me," Sam said, taking Josh's key and succeeding on his  
second attempt. Josh stumbled forward as the door opened, his  
normally tense body somehow out of his control. He finished the  
move nose-to-floor in the hallway.

"Hi," he said to his apartment floor, and then, "Durkheim was  
closer than people suppose."

The floor failed to reply. Sam hesitated for a moment, knowing  
that he could leave but sure he'd feel guilty if he did, then  
shut the door-decisively, and a little louder than he'd  
intended-and knelt beside Josh. "Time for bed, Joshua."

Josh rolled onto his side, with a drunk's graceful disregard  
for discomfort, and stretched a hand towards Sam. "I mean,  
compare his explanation of religious belief with Freud's. It  
makes so much more sense to place the origin of… it's  
possible I'm going to vomit later this evening."

"Obviously, sociology is the way to go," Sam agreed, taking  
Josh's hand and pulling him up to a sitting position. "Bathroom,  
or bucket?"

"I don't own a bucket," Josh said, as if this somehow made him  
a better person. He pulled away from Sam and stood up, swaying a  
little. "Children aren't religious as young as some people  
suppose-they copy their parents in words and actions, but they  
don't come to genuine, thought-through belief until…" Josh  
frowned. "Sam, aren't you listening to me?"

"I'm listening," Sam assured him, resting his back on the  
wall. "Are you going to be talking about sociology all  
night?"

"Maybe," Josh replied, haughtily. "It's highly important to  
understand these things."

"You love trivia, don't you?"

"You've got me confused with the President."

"No, I haven't," Sam said, looking at Josh's tousled hair and  
thinking that he was pretty sure he doesn't want to run his  
fingers through President Bartlet's hair. "Which is a good thing,  
because Abbey would kill me," he added.

"If Leo didn't get there first," Josh nodded. He looked  
around, seeming to realise that he was standing the middle of the  
hallway. "Come on in," he said, smiling at Sam. "Let us be like  
the warriors of old, quaffing fine ale and telling tales of brave  
deeds and derring-do."

A reasonable analogy, Sam mused: politics is a battlefield  
every day, and their latest loss-a bill with an amendment they  
were effectively blackmailed into accepting-hit Josh hard, even  
if the alcohol had given him a false veneer of good cheer.

"Speak not of our recent defeats, Good Knight Samuel," Josh  
continued, sauntering through his living room into the kitchen  
area and pulling wine bottles from the fridge.

"I think I need a tinfoil hat," Sam remarked. Logic didn't  
seem to be at a premium. He took a seat on the couch.

Josh took two corkscrews out, and leaned over to hand one to  
Sam. Their fingers brushed, softly. It could just have been the  
alcohol slowing their reactions. "Our tales will be of times  
past, when folk where brave and bold and dragons roamed the  
land."

"As opposed to nowadays, when we lock them in Congress."

"This is good wine," Josh observed, and put that bottle back,  
taking out two cheaper bottles instead. "Here."

Sam accepted a bottle. "So," he said, taking a kind of  
pleasure in digging the corkscrew deep into the defenceless wood.  
It seemed vaguely symbolic, though he couldn't say of what.

"You don't think Durkheim was so majorly misguided in other  
areas that his account of religion is flawed by it?"

"Obviously, one has to take that into account," Josh said,  
flopping down at Sam's side and leaning forward to place two  
glasses on the table. "But, no, I think it's inherently a  
stronger theory than Freud's, and much, much stronger than other  
theories-Marx, for example."

"Strong enough for atheism to be the only option for a  
right-thinking person?" Sam asked.

Josh shook his head. "No, no, genetic fallacy, and all that.  
But strong enough for atheism to be a viable option."

"You're drunk," Sam said, pouring wine. "You must be really  
drunk-you never talk about religion when you're sober."

"Yeah," Josh shrugged. "And I don't talk about…"

Sam gave him a glass, and tried to look him in the eye when he  
asked, "What? What else don't you talk about sober?"

"Never mind," Josh said, but he kept his eyes on the far wall.  
Sam tried to look at the pictures or the bookshelves, something  
innocent, but found himself studying the curve of Josh's spine,  
the slope of his shoulder blades pressed against his shirt. "What  
do you think, anyway? About religion?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "I often think I don't really care.  
Agnostic, I guess, with a bit of an inclination to be Christian  
in public or a crisis."

This was apparently not the answer Josh wanted. He stood up,  
too quickly, spilling his drink a little. "You don't care?" he  
asked. It was suddenly clear to Sam that the question wasn't  
about religion, wasn't even about politics. The mental tinfoil  
hat he had been using to try and stop Josh reading his mind,  
though, seemed to work both ways, and he couldn't for the life of  
him imagine to what the question did refer.

"I care," he said, because he knew it was a strong speaking  
technique to begin with a firm positive verb. The President would  
like to say that. I care. I know. I act. "I care about doing the  
best job I can. About working for the country, about looking out  
for my friends."

Josh turned to face him and at last their eyes meet. "Yeah,"  
he said, with a little sigh, like he'd known all along but wanted  
it confirmed. He drained his glass.

"More?" Sam offered, because he was still holding the bottle.  
Josh nodded, sitting down again, closer to Sam this time and at a  
slant to the edge of the couch so that they were nearly facing  
each other. Sam shifted as he poured to emphasis or acknowledge  
that.

Their knees touched. The contact was warm, but it made Sam  
shiver; Josh didn't seem to be aware of it.

"Thanks," Josh said. He was smiling, Sam noticed. He looked  
relaxed, which was a rare thing for any of them.

"Josh," Sam began, "have you ever…" He couldn't finish  
the question. What kind of person needed to ask that, anyway? If  
Josh was bi, surely there would be some clue he could have-should  
have-picked up on… they'd known each other for so long,  
but he'd never had the courage to ask….

"What?" Josh asked.

"Nothing," Sam said. He stood up, tearing his eyes away from  
the edges and angles of Josh's body. "I should go. I have a  
seven-thirty tomorrow."

Josh nodded, absently, and poured himself another glass of  
wine. "Okay. See you."

"See you," Sam said. He let himself out.

* * *

The next morning, the sun shone spitefully down on Joshua  
Lyman's aching head.

"You look awful," Donna said, with a grin as unsympathetic as  
a large rock with a stone heart.

Josh didn't deign to reply. It was eight-fifteen, miniature  
men with mallets were building a cathedral of pain just behind  
his temples, and his assistant was being a smartass. He was  
seriously considering vomiting again.

"You have an eight o'clock waiting in your office, Leo wants  
to have seen you ten minutes ago, you also have an eight-thirty  
about a report I don't think you've read, and Sam looks nearly as  
bad as you do. Did you two go out drinking last night? 'Cos it  
was a really bad time." Donna rattled the list off cheerily as  
they stride along the corridor.

"Okay," Josh managed to say. He swung around. "I'm going to  
see CJ."

Donna frowned at him, but he didn't care. He walked away from  
her, and found CJ heading for Leo's office.

"Josh!" she said, "You know Leo wants to see you, don't  
you?"

"Yes," Josh said.

"Are you okay? You look even worse than Sam does."

"Yeah," Josh said. "After this, I need to talk to you."

CJ opened her mouth to answer, but they'd arrived at Leo's  
office, and Toby, Sam, and Mandy were already there. "Where've  
you been, Josh?" Leo asked. "I told Donna I needed to see you  
half an hour ago."

Josh shrugged. "Sorry, Leo."

"Don't let it happen again," Leo said. "Let's get  
started."

"Sam's writing a speech about the wonders of nursing," Toby  
said.

"And health workers," Sam said, "and medics generally." As CJ  
had said, he looked terrible. Josh hoped that wasn't his  
fault.

"What else is happening today?" Leo wanted to know.

"A school in Nevada wants to ban fairy tale books because they  
might promote damaging ideas," CJ said. "Other than that, not  
much."

"Josh, find out what's going on there and if someone needs to  
set up meetings," Leo instructed.

"I have to meet the finance people this morning, and someone  
who wants me to protect trees," Josh said, semi-protesting.

"I don't think anyone else can take it," Leo said.

He looked at Mandy, who shook her head. "The President's  
meeting with Boris Yeltsin is going to have to be very carefully  
staged or it'll be a major PR disaster."

Josh sighed, and Leo nodded. "If that's all, then…"

They scurried out. CJ took Josh by the shoulder and dragged  
him into her office like a lioness collecting her share of the  
kill. "What is it, Joshua?"

Flinching, Josh tried to find a place to begin. "It's…"  
He didn't really want to ask CJ this. Stupid to be laying the  
foundations for a revelation before you have anything to  
reveal.

"Have you done something monumentally stupid?" CJ suggested,  
shuffling papers on her desk until she uncovered a half-empty  
packet of fish food.

"It's not a work thing," Josh offered, "at least, not yet."  
Conversely, if you're ready to reveal it, you might be ready to  
obtain it…

"Okay," CJ said, "have you done something monumentally stupid  
in your personal life?"

Josh began to pace up and down the room: four strides from  
door to desk, four strides back again. "I don't know."

"You don't know what you've done? And please stop wearing a  
hole in my carpet, this administration can't afford to replace  
that kind of thing."

"It's more something I haven't done," Josh explained, perching  
on the edge of a chair. "Or something I've been thinking about  
but I'm not sure if I should do or not, because I don't know  
enough about the situation and how it might be received, and I'm  
not even sure why I'm telling you about this."

CJ nodded, slowly, and sat down behind her desk. "I'm your  
friend, Josh, it's perfectly normal that you should explain this  
stuff to me. By the way, that explanation was so stunningly clear  
that I can now understand it all, seeing through the muddy waters  
to a whole heap of mud."

"Maybe if I give you a hypothetical example of a similar  
situation?"

"Go ahead," CJ said, but Carol knocked on the door.  
"What?"

"Danny wants to see you before the briefing, which you said  
would be at eight-fifteen sharp today."

"So?"

"It's eight twenty-five," Carol said, apologetically.

CJ nodded briskly, and added in Josh's direction, "Make it a  
thirty-second hypothetical."

"Say there are two fictional people," Josh began. "One of them  
is very attracted to the other one, but doesn't know the other's  
sexual preferences. What does he do?"

"If you're trying to ask me out, Josh, I'm straight but the  
answer's no," CJ said, stacking folders.

"Not you, Claudia Jean. Someone else. And I never said I was  
one of the hypothetical people."

"In my experience, the best thing to do is ask them," CJ said.  
She stood up. "Either that, or find out who they've dated in the  
past. If she only dates other women, you're never going to trick  
her into going out with you, Josh, delectably feminine though you  
are."

"You're a fount of helpfulness and wisdom today," Josh  
muttered, and opened the door for her.

* * *

"…and the professor's really mean, he marks everyone  
down," Laurie finished, and then leaned towards the window in a  
vain attempt to be looking straight at Sam's face. "Sam, are you  
even listening to me, or did you come here to stare out the  
window?"

"Sorry," Sam said, and tried to concentrate on Laurie. "You  
were talking about… about your classes, right? Something  
about marking?"

"Right," Laurie agreed, rolling her eyes. "Shut up and eat  
lunch, Sam, you're clearly on some other planet."

They attacked their food in silence for a moment, and then  
Laurie asked, "Any chance you're going to tell me what's going on  
in there?"

"In where, Laurie?" Sam tried to keep his voice even. "You  
know I can't talk about my job."

Laurie nodded, stabbing an errant piece of lettuce. "I know.  
But I meant in your head. You're thinking about something big,  
and I have a hunch it's not work."

"It could be work," Sam objected. "My work is big."

"Yeah, yeah. But it's not work, is it?"

Sam sighed. "No, on this occasion it's not."

"So, what is it?"

"You don't take a hint, do you?"

"Was that a hint? Was I supposed to stop asking questions, or  
be overawed by your superior employment, or something? Because  
you should know, Mr Seaborn, I don't intend to be distracted that  
easily when I'm cross-examining a witness, and furthermore, I've  
started practising."

"That's good," Sam said. "You need lots of practise."

"Answer the question, Samuel Seaborn."

"Samuel _Norman_ Seaborn, actually."

"Whatever. Answer the question."

"Which question exactly?"

"What were you thinking about?"

"What was I thinking about when?"

"When you were staring out of the window just now!"

"I was thinking about… how the trees are bare, and it's  
a long time until spring."

"And that took you a whole five minutes, to think that?"

"It could have."

"If you thought really slowly," Laurie countered. "I don't  
believe you, Mr Seaborn, and neither does the jury."

Sam looked around the quiet sandwich bar. "There's a jury  
now?"

"They're invisible," Laurie said. "And they're firmly on my  
side, so you'd better give me a believable answer, and  
quickly."

"Okay, okay," Sam said, holding up his hands in a gesture of  
mock-acceptance, then lowered his voice. "I was indulging in five  
of the three hundred and sixteen minutes an average guy spends  
every day thinking about sex. Believable?"

Laurie laughed quietly. "Oh yes. The thing is, now I want more  
details."

"Not you," Sam said at once.

"Oh?" Laurie raised her eyebrows. "Then who?"

"Well…" Sam hesitated. "You'll never, ever, talk to the  
press, right?"

"In my line of work? I try and avoid the public eye."

"Right," Sam said. "Well, then-okay, I don't want to just say  
this."

"So what do we do, play Twenty Questions?"

Sam checked his watch. At least ten minutes before he ought to  
leave. "Okay."

"You have to tell me if it's animal, vegetable or mineral,  
first."

"Humans are animals, Laurie, so I think that's a fairly safe  
bet."

"But is that actually the right answer?"

"Human, Laurie. I fantasize about a human."

"It's good to know that you're not one of these guys who  
thinks of women as subhuman, Sam."

Sam smiled, but didn't say anything.

"Okay," Laurie said, "If we're really doing this, then,  
question one is 'is it a woman?'"

Moment of truth. Sam took a quick glance to make sure nobody  
was watching, and then shook his head.

"O-kaaay," Laurie said, drawing it out almost as long as a  
sentence. For a moment, Sam entertained the idea that it would be  
a death sentence, but the invisible jury apparently declared him  
not guilty. Laurie took a deep breath in and asked, "Is he  
someone I've met?"

Sam nodded.

"Someone at the White House?"

Another nod.

Laurie opened her mouth to speak, but paused, looking  
thoughtful. "Not that Josh guy?"

Sam glanced around again, nervously. "Got it in four," he  
said, tightly, then checked his watch again. "I really should be  
going."

"You're going to tell me that and then leave?" Laurie said,  
taken aback.

"It's my preferred method of breaking news," Sam told  
her-thinking that her expression almost perfectly matched Josh's  
just a few months ago, when Josh had found out about Laurie. He  
felt that in a little while he might be able to appreciate the  
irony in that.

"Okay," Laurie said, shrugging, but when Sam stood up she  
grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. "Just two things, Sammy.  
One, don't you dare think I'm not cool with your being bi, and  
two, twenty bucks says Josh Lyman is straight like a ruler."

"Thanks for the advice, Laurie," Sam nodded, and hurried  
away.

* * *

Thirteen hours passed in a spot-lit blur: meetings, telephone  
calls, reading and drafting memos. At the edge of Josh's  
awareness all day, however, floated Sam.

Occasionally Sam was there in person, weighing in on a debate  
or coming from his office to tell Toby and Josh to keep their  
argument quieter because he was writing. Those moments seemed  
dreamlike when they finished, though.

Mostly Sam was there in his thoughts. He thought about Sam the  
night before, leaning close enough to touch-close enough to  
kiss-and derailed that train of thought as quickly as possible.  
He thought about Sam, all the years he'd known Sam, and he found  
himself doodling lists in the margins of his notes. They  
typically started: Laurie Lisa Mallory.

Once, he started a list which began Nicola Christopher Mandy,  
but Donna walked into his office with a message and he hid it  
quickly. It was as good an excuse as any not to write Sam.

"This is the speech of Senator Kinsey's you said you wanted a  
copy of," Donna said, adding another folder to one of the piles  
already on his desk. "And this is the memo I've just written  
about fairy tale books and why some people in Nevada want to ban  
them. Also, I'd like to know which dream-world you're living in  
today."

Josh looked at her, trying to work out if that was a serious  
request, an attempt at tactfully relaying a complaint, or just  
one of Donna's random things. "It's not a nice place, Donna.  
You're there, and it's like a nightmare."

"That's not because of me, though, is it?"

"Could be," Josh said, glancing at Donna's lips and wondering  
why he didn't want to touch them. "You make my waking world into  
an accurate facsimile of hell, after all."

"Not as much as C-" Donna began, but Josh's rapidly raised  
eyebrows warned her just in time. "Toby does," she finished, and  
turned around. "Hey, CJ. If you want to maul him, I was just  
leaving."

"I would, but Carol hasn't sharpened my knives this week," CJ  
replied. They exchanged smiles as Donna left.

"What is it, CJ?" Josh asked, retrieving his backpack from the  
corner and shoving Kinsey's speech into it. "If it's big, keep it  
quiet until tomorrow. I was just about to head home."

"Got reading to do?" CJ enquired, an eyebrow raised. Josh  
nodded. "It's like being back at school, isn't it?"

"Complete with scary teachers," Josh answered. "I think Toby  
may have missed his calling when he didn't go into teaching  
terrified second graders."

"He's certainly got a good enough grasp of Seasame Street to  
cope admirably," CJ agreed, shutting the doors. "But I didn't  
walk all this way to talk about Toby. It's about what you said  
this morning."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," CJ said, putting her hands on the front desk of Josh's  
desk and leaning forward enough that if he didn't know better,  
Josh would have mistaken the action for looming. "You were very  
careful with the pronouns, Josh, or rather the lack of them, so  
this is all guesswork, and if I'm wrong, ignore me: but if you're  
considering a relationship with another man, that's fine. The  
only thing is, I want to know as soon as he does, and long, long  
before the press has the slightest inkling. Okay?"

Josh nodded.

"Long, long before. Are you clear on that, Joshua? Not 'five  
minutes before', or 'before they ask questions about it' or even  
'before they know'. Before they guess, right?"

"Before they guess," Josh echoed.

CJ looked down at him, straight into his eyes as if she was  
intending to drill oil out of him with her gaze alone.

"Before they guess," Josh said again. "I'm very clear about  
that, CJ."

"If it's someone else in the White House, I might need to know  
even sooner," she added.

Josh nodded again, a little lost for words.

"Okay," CJ said. "I'll see you tomorrow." She turned towards  
the door, but paused before she opened it. "By the way, Sam left  
the building about ten minutes ago."

She left Josh there to ponder bemusedly on the  
over-intelligence of certain press secretaries.

Josh pondered for a minute, as he knew he was expected to,  
then gathered his backpack and coat and went to his car.

* * *

Three doors along the hall from Josh's apartment, a  
middle-aged woman by the name of Irene Whistler sat at the window  
until one twenty-seven in the morning, when Joshua Lyman's car  
pulled around the corner. The she listened at the door until one  
forty-one, when Joshua Lyman staggered back into his apartment,  
singing under his breath. She was beginning to suspect that she  
and Catherine were a hair's breadth from their big break-and when  
she phoned Catherine, one floor up from Mr Samuel Seaborn, she  
knew it for sure.

Catherine reported that (Irene noted the exact words, in young  
Johnny needed them): "That Lyman came over about half past ten,  
and they were sitting talking for ages. I think they were a bit  
drunk, too-not as bad as sometimes, Lyman could still walk, but  
drunk enough to talk too loud-I heard it all. They're-this is  
what he said-'giving it a whirl'. And I could be wrong, but I  
think there was kissing. I'd call your nephew John, if I were  
you."

Irene did indeed call John. John called his editor, who called  
Joe, currently a member of the White House Press  
Corps….

* * *

The next morning, Senior Staff ran late-the President and Sam  
had a trivia face-off over American geography, while Leo, Toby,  
CJ, and Josh remained strategically silent-and CJ didn't manage  
to catch Josh alone before the press briefing.

She kept it short. "… just one more question before I  
wrap this up," she said, "Joe?"

"CJ, is it true that two senior White House staffers are in a  
homosexual relationship?"

"What staffers do in their private lives is, obviously,  
private," CJ replied, resisting the strong temptation to bang her  
head on the podium. "We don't comment on the private lives of our  
staff-that's our policy. Thank you, everyone; there'll be another  
briefing in an hour or so."

There were lots of questions unanswered-she could feel them in  
the air, a smog of curiosity that made her want to cough.

"Carol, please tell me nothing bad is going to happen today,"  
CJ ordered as she entered her office.

Carol, carrying a stack of folders, frowned. "I can tell you  
that, but it might not be true."

"Lie to me," CJ said, slumping into her chair and staring at  
Gail, whose fishbowl featured a small plastic book. "What's Gail  
reading?" she added.

"Fairy tales, the same as every other kid in the  
country-except the two hundred who attend Lincoln Middle School,  
Nevada," Sam said from the doorway. "And you are soon going to be  
refreshing your memory of Little Red Riding Hood, because it's  
going to be part of the national debate tomorrow or sooner."

"How can you be so sure?" CJ enquired, nodding at Carol as a  
signal for her to leave. "And why will anyone care about it?  
Schools ban books all the time."

"Yes," Sam agreed. "But banning books isn't the issue. The  
issue is freedom of speech. Come with me, I have to tell Josh and  
Toby and possibly Leo this, too."

CJ stood up, but said, "Wait! Shut the door a second."

"Why, CJ, are you going to tell me something secret? You don't  
actually know missile codes, do you?"

"No, it's you who's going to be telling secrets, Sparky."

"I am?"

"It depends on the answer to this question: are you in a  
homosexual relationship with a fellow White House staffer?"

Sam, hand still on the doorknob, froze. "CJ, why are you  
asking me this?"

"I have reason to believe it's a sensible question," CJ said.  
"Sam, you do understand that if you are, I'm not only your new  
best friend but your best line of defence and possibly the only  
thing standing between you and your doom?"

"Err," Sam said. "Look, I…" His shoulders sagged.

"You what?"

"I'm not sure that relationship is the right word,  
but…"

"Did you talk to Joshua Lyman last night?"

"Well… talked isn't the word, actually. He came by. We  
drank. He-" Sam spun around, opening the door as he went, and  
proceeded to walk straight backwards into one of CJ's armchairs,  
which he fell into.

"Glad to see I still have the power," Josh remarked dryly.

"Speak of the devil," CJ replied. "Shut the door, Josh, we  
were just talking about you."

"Which side of the door do you want me?" Josh asked, raising  
an eyebrow at Sam, who struggled out of the chair and tried to  
regain a little dignity.

"In the meeting, Josh," CJ told him.

He obeyed.

"I had an interesting little question at the end of this  
morning's briefing about White House staffers and homosexual  
relationships," CJ said. "I'm looking at you two, and you two  
look guilty."

"I'm not guilty," Josh protested.

Sam said, quietly, "You kissed me."

"Yeah," Josh said. "I said, I'm not guilty. I didn't say, I'm  
not in a homosexual relationship."

"So what we have is a relationship?" Sam asked. "We didn't  
seem very clear about that last night."

"Last night we were drunk," Josh shrugged. "Again. Today we're  
clear. Clear like crystal which has been polished so that you can  
see through it, to use some of that imagery you're so fond  
of."

"Of which I'm so fond," Sam said, automatically.  
"Relationship. That's… good, I suppose. It just seems very  
serious."

"Sam…" Josh said, in a tone which had don't make me beg  
written on its forehead. "If you're having second  
thoughts…"

"You shouldn't be having them here," CJ interrupted. "This is  
all very cute, guys, but we have jobs to do. Apparently we have  
to talk about fairy tales, and I have to see Mandy, and things  
are going to keep happening around here whether you two are in a  
relationship or not. All I need to know is, how much are the  
press going to know, and how soon?"

"CJ, I honestly don't know have they could have even guessed,"  
Josh said. "I know you said, before they guessed, but I'm almost  
positive there's no way they could have anything on us."

"Neighbours?" Sam suggested. "Someone might have seen you come  
into my building last night."

"But that wouldn't mean anything," Josh said. "I've been over  
before without anyone starting this sort of rumour!"

"Never mind that now," CJ said. "It could just have been a  
shot in the dark, but we'd better assume they have a source and  
work from there. I'm going to leave you two alone for five  
minutes, and then come back and you can either tell me that we  
have to go and see Leo about this, or everything I need to know  
about this school in Nevada, because there's nothing else to tell  
Leo."

CJ made a point of shutting the door behind herself, but she  
didn't go further than Carol's desk.

* * *

"Okay," Sam said. "Are we-?"

"I want to," Josh said. Sam looked puzzled. "I'll explain  
later," Josh promised. "If we're going to do this, we'll do  
better to get through the stuff here first, and the personal  
stuff later."

"And if the personal stuff doesn't work out?"

"We'll make it work," Josh said. "Okay?"

Sam was still frowning, but nodded.

"Let's go." Josh opened the door and nodded to CJ, who swept  
around and led the little group through the corridors. He thought  
they must look like the shot on the Buffy credits where the  
Scoobies march towards the camera, stakes and axes in hand, but  
he didn't dare voice the idea because he knew he'd be roundly  
mocked for watching Buffy. Even-no, especially-if he explained  
that Giles and Xander both reminded him of Sam.

"This isn't about the school in Nevada, right?" CJ  
checked.

Josh shook his head. "But you should be up on that  
anyway."

"Okay, what's the thing with that?"

"The thing is," Sam explained as they walked, "some kid who  
read a book of fairy tales outside school started telling them to  
his classmates. His classmates tried to look them up in the  
school library, but couldn't find them. They went home and asked  
their parents, who were upset that their little dears had come  
home talking about witches and things. Their parents are now  
trying to sue the school for allowing another child to corrupt  
their children."

"Fairy tales are corrupting?" CJ asked. "Really?"

"Well, I don't think so, but apparently they're as bad as  
Harry Potter about promoting witchcraft," Sam said. "Especially  
Cinderella."

"I liked Harry Potter," Josh said, musingly, but had the bad  
luck to do so at the precise moment Toby joined their parade.

"Who's your favourite character, Josh, Neville Longbottom?"  
Toby enquired. "What's wrong with Cinderella, and are we all  
going to see Leo?"

All three of them answered him at once. "Yes," said CJ; "It  
encourages magic," said Sam; and Josh said, belligerently, "You  
see, even you've read Harry Potter!"

They were at Leo's office, and Margaret was staring at them.  
"He's there," she said. "But if you lot are in one of your funny  
moods, I don't think you should hold him responsible for his  
actions."

"Fair warning," Josh muttered. "Always a bad sign," and they  
went on in.

* * *

It wasn't long before Josh was sure that this had been a bad  
idea. Coming out was bad enough, but coming out to an old friend  
of your father's over a relationship that had hardly  
started-really, really bad.

It was only made bearable by two things: CJ's firm  
we-support-them stance, and Sam's impassioned and eloquent  
defence in the face of Leo's professional concerns.

"We can stick with 'no comment on the personal lives of  
staffers' for a while," CJ said, trying to calm the situation,  
but Leo wasn't having it.

"And when the press refuse to take it, and hound these two  
until they can't do their jobs let alone have any privacy?"

"Then we'll make a statement," Sam said. "They're our lives,  
we'll spend them as we choose to. It's not the business of the  
press, but we're not going to live in secret or hide from them,  
so if they want to know, we'll tell them: we're out, we're proud,  
and if they hate our guts or are consumed by jealousy, that's not  
our problem!"

It was, Josh mused, a splendid sight: Sam Seaborn, not merely  
writing the speech but making it. He wanted to grieve the lost  
chances-the president that Sam could have been-but in that  
instant there wasn't space in his heart for anything other than  
love.

"Margaret!" Leo shouted. "Find out if the President has a  
minute."

* * *

"Josh and Sam have something to tell you," Leo announced,  
striding into the Oval Office. Josh and Sam trailed behind  
him.

"Is it nice?" the President enquired.

Leo looked at Josh, and Josh looked back at Leo. Sam stared  
the carpet.

"Well?" Bartlet asked. "Sam, I know I have a fascinating  
carpet, but you can look at me, you know."

"I know, Mr President," Sam said, lifting his chin. "This is  
just a little awkward."

"I'll leave you three alone," Leo said. He shut the door  
behind him.

"Well?" Bartlet repeated. "Are you two in trouble for some  
reason, or is Leo just determined not to steal your credit for  
some astonishing breakthrough?"

"Err…" Josh said.

"Um," Sam said.

"You start," said Josh.

"After you," said Sam.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Bartlet said. "Why don't you answer  
my first question: Josh, is it a nice thing?"

"For me, yes, sir."

"Sam, is it an important thing?"

"For me, yes, sir."

"Josh, are you going to tell me what it is?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well?"

Josh threw one last desperate glance at Sam, who stayed poker  
faced and looking straight ahead, before he said, "Sir, you know  
Ted Marcus wants you to be more vocal in support of gay  
rights?"

"Yes," Bartlet said. He was clearly trying to sound  
patient.

"Well, it's entirely possible that we're about to create a  
situation in which you can reasonable, legitimately, and without  
appearing to give in to any lobbies, do just that."

Bartlet looked slowly from Josh, to Sam, and back at Josh.  
"You two?"

"Yes, sir." The responses came in unison.

"You crazy kids. You realise I have some questions?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll try and be quick-there's something about fairy tales I  
need to know about?"

"Cinderella promotes witchcraft," Sam supplied.

"Right. Big ones first, or little ones?"

"Start small and work up?" Josh suggested.

"Sam, I thought you were dating Leo's daughter?"

"It wasn't really working, sir. I'm going to talk to her  
before we make a statement about this, but I think she saw it  
coming."

"Okay," Bartlet said. "How long has this been going on?"

Sam and Josh exchanged glances. "A while," Sam settled on.  
"We've only just gotten around to talking about it."

Bartlet nodded. "And you're ready for this to be a news  
story?"

"We're going to have to be, sir," Josh said. "CJ had a  
question about it in her first briefing today."

"You're going to make a statement?" Bartlet asked, and watched  
with quiet amusement as they checked each other's expressions  
again. "If you're not ready to, I'm sure CJ can hold them off for  
a while."

"A couple of days?" Sam suggested. He wasn't looking at the  
president. "I have to finish the speech for the American Nurses  
Association-that's tomorrow-and then draft this…"

"That makes sense," Bartlet said, just as someone knocked on  
the door. "Come in."

Leo appeared in the doorway. "If you're not finished, sir,  
I'll wait," he offered, but Bartlet shook his head.

"We were just finished, actually," Bartlet told him. "They're  
going to make a statement on Monday-Sam's taking a day to draft  
it, and he's going to get Toby to help him. Sam, tell Toby I want  
him to draft my statement of support, too-I know we're going to  
need one."

"Sir," Leo began. "Are you sure you want to… not that  
we don't support them, obviously, but it might not be a good move  
at this point."

"Lots of Republicans, and a certain number of Democrats, may  
be less co-operative," Josh put in. "They won't necessarily be up  
front about why, but we'll have more trouble getting people to  
switch their votes, for example."

"On a larger scale, you're never going to deal sensibly with  
the Christian right again," Leo added.

"That might not be a bad thing," Sam said. Josh glared at him,  
feeling a little betrayed, but he knew the President and Leo were  
going to agree.

"If it hampers your effectiveness too much, you're going to be  
in trouble," Bartlet said. "You're going to need a way to cope  
with those situations. Also, you're going to take even more of  
the kind of crap that Charlie and Zoey are dealing with. Are you  
really ready for that?"

There was a pause, a missed beat, while they considered  
that.

"If you're prepared to support us, sir," Josh said. "I know  
there are good reasons for you not to, but-"

"On the other hand, if I don't make a statement of support,  
Ted Marcus might really walk out on us," Bartlet replied. "Leo,  
can you have Toby be ready with something when this comes out?  
Now, what's this about Cinderella?"

* * *

…and I'm proud to recognise the hard work done by the  
nursing staff of America in caring for our citizens, Sam typed.  
That was basically the end of the first draft; the president  
could add a few thanks on his own.

Sam hit the 'save' button-at times he thought he'd do that  
before he rushed out of a burning building-sighed, and looked up  
for the first time in half an hour.

Josh was sitting on the couch, smirking at him. "It must be a  
good speech," Josh observed. "You were really deep in it,  
there."

"It is good," Sam said. "Or it feels good at the moment. Why  
are you here?"

"Sam, it's seven-thirty; we were going to meet at seven for  
dinner, remember?"

Shit. Sam froze. This was a great way to start a  
relationship-set up your first proper date as a couple, and your  
last proper date before you have to come out or end it, and  
forget to go. "I'm sorry, Josh," he said, much too fast, trying  
to shut his laptop and close his notepad and stand up all at the  
same time. Predictably, he made a mess of it.

Josh just watched him. Sam couldn't tell if it was the fond  
gaze of a lover or the cold gaze of a cobra about to strike, but  
he had a sinking feeling that it could easily be the latter.

The laptop's half-closed screen was flashing an error message.  
The top page of the notepad was creased. Sam sighed, and sat down  
again. He pressed Ctrl-Alt-Delete and told Windows to shut down,  
though he wished it had a 'fuck off and die' option. He smoothed  
the notepad and put it away in a desk drawer.

Then he looked up at Josh, took a deep breath, and said, "This  
isn't going to work, is it?"

"Nonsense," Josh said. He was fidgeting with something in his  
jacket pocket. "You didn't notice me, but I only got here five  
minutes ago."

"Ah," Sam said.

"Donna had to remind me," Josh added. "You talked to  
Mallory?"

Sam nodded. "And Laurie."

"Okay," Josh said, and for the first time in months he looked  
genuinely happy. "Let's go to dinner now."

"I… okay," Sam said. He stood up, careful not to bang  
his knee again, and picked up his coat. "Let's go."

"Steady," Josh said. He stood, straight up into the edges of  
Sam's personal space, and pointed at Sam's waist. "Pager. Cell  
phone."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Leave them here," Josh instructed. "They know where we've  
gone. This is symbolic of our being not just about the West  
Wing."

"Someone else might want to get in touch," Sam said, even  
though he knew it was lame, because there always had to be a  
brief showing of a counter position. "Laurie might call me."

"All the more reason," Josh said, and it occurred to Sam that,  
indeed, mentioning Laurie at the start of their first real date  
was going to be a problem.

"Yeah." Sam put the two offending items on the desk, and let  
Josh shepherd him out of the door. Josh's hand on his shoulder  
was warm and firm.

"Have fun," Donna called as they passed her desk.

"Go home," Josh replied. "Unless you have an urge to stay at  
that desk until the end of time."

"I'm going," Donna told him. "Though it has to be said that if  
you two make this work, it could easily be a sign of the  
apocalypse."

"Ignore her," Josh told Sam, pushing him forward again. "She  
just likes to prophesise bad things. She's always sure it's going  
to rain tomorrow."

"It is," Donna said to their backs.

Josh propelled Sam past the security guards and into the car  
park before he let go of his shoulder.

* * *

Saturday night, and places were full. They ended up in a small  
Italian place, a little way out from the centre of the city,  
eating pasta and drinking vino de casa.

When Josh wasn't kissing him, Sam thought, when they couldn't  
even touch because they were in public and not yet out, it was a  
lot harder to believe that this could ever work.

"… the child must have some First Amendment rights,"  
Josh said. "He only told a story, he wasn't trying to convert  
them to paganism."

"Yeah," Sam agreed vaguely. "Josh, how the hell do we do  
this?"

"Have a relationship, you mean?" Josh took a gulp of wine.  
"Well, it can't be that difficult, right?"

"It might be impossible," Sam said. "For starters, it's not  
going to work if we both have to get drunk before we can talk  
about it."

Josh put his glass down, deliberately. "It's going to work,  
Sam. We're going to make it work."

"Two questions: how and why?"

"Sam, if you don't know why, I'm not sure I can do the how  
part."

Sam shrugged. "I know my reasons why, Josh. I just don't know  
what yours are."

"You can be an idiot sometimes, you know that?"

"Humour me." Sam stared at his plate for a moment and then  
looked up, caught Josh's eyes. "I have reasons, Josh. Reasons  
that are good. But you've never said anything about your  
reasons."

"Well, then," Josh said, and his gaze flicked into the  
distance as if there was a teleprompter a few feet behind Sam's  
left shoulder. "One, it gives me a very good reason to tell Donna  
to stop flirting with me."

"Oh, don't spoil her fun," Sam said, grinning. He waved his  
fork at Josh to emphasise the point. "She doesn't mean anything  
by it, I'm sure."

Josh swore. "You two are colluding, right?"

"No," Sam said, but when Josh looked doubtful he did admit, "I  
did tell her to remind you about our date, before I shut myself  
in my office and proceeded to forget about it."

"I knew there was a conspiracy," Josh said, relaxing in the  
cushion-like safety of banter. "She's probably got Carol and CJ  
and the rest, as well."

"Donnatella Moss, head of an organisation-wide spy ring," Sam  
laughed. "Wanted on three charges: matchmaking, being a  
busy-body, and efficient diary-keeping."

"You're guilty too, remember?" Josh reminded him. "But you're  
not letting me get to my next reason."

"Which is?"

Josh leaned forward and lowered his voice. "The next reason  
for dating you, Sam Seaborn, and making it work, is this: despite  
your klutzy moments, your tendency to be anal, and your freakish  
knowledge of inter-state highways, you're actually a very  
attractive man." Josh sat back, apparently enjoying watching  
Sam's reaction, though he didn't quite manage to disguise the  
quick glance that ensured nobody was close enough to have heard  
them.

"Next up-if it's handled right, supporting us could be seen as  
a strong, even brave, move for the President. At the very least,  
it demonstrates that we do support gay rights and that the  
President isn't entirely middle-of-the-road. And whatever effects  
it has on our careers-and it's probably going to put an end to  
any ideas you or I have of running for Senate or Congress or  
whatever-it's bound to put some extra money on the book  
deal."

"Only probably?" Sam queried.

Josh nodded. "There's a small chance that by coming out now,  
the public will have time to get used to us, and in a decade or  
so one of us might stand a chance. I'm not ruling it out, I'm  
just not going to count on it. If you don't fancy the book deal,  
there's always lecturing-universities tend to be fairly liberal  
places and poly-sci departments would be falling over themselves  
to have people like us."

"Some of them are already inviting us," Sam noted. "Okay. Go  
on. You say these reasons are working upwards in importance?"

"Yeah."

"Aren't your priorities at little out of order? Surely my  
attractiveness is more important then the book deal."

"Wait until you've heard the last one," Josh said.

"Okay."

"Here goes." Josh swallowed, a little nervous. "Finally and  
conclusively, then, it's worth it-worth the trouble and the  
battles and the potential death threats-because I love you."

"Err, good," Sam said, when he'd recovered a little from the  
shock of hearing Josh say that aloud at all, let alone in a  
public place. "Um-shall we finish this conversation somewhere  
more private?"

Nodding, Josh waved the waiter over.

They made it to the car before Sam couldn't resist any longer,  
and kissed Josh until they were both gasping for breath.

"If that's on the front page tomorrow, CJ will kill us," Josh  
noted when he could speak again.

"I didn't see a flash go off," Sam said.

"Me neither. But I had my eyes shut."

"Me too." Sam shrugged and started the engine. "You'd better  
talk about work while I drive or we might not get there."

"Okay," Josh said. "By the way, where are we going-I realise  
it's a cliché, but-your place or mine?"

"I don't mind," Sam said, making a right on the road to head  
back towards the city centre. "It might be less trackable to go  
to yours, since you came to my place last night."

"Suits me," Josh said, thinking of the lube and condoms in the  
second drawer of his bedside table. "Do you really want me to  
talk more about the daft parents in Nevada?"

"Anything you like, so long as it doesn't involve Toby  
shouting at me."

Josh grinned, and started with, "Next week Congress is going  
to…"

Sam listened, and smiled, and drove into the warm darkness at  
the heart of Washington D.C.


End file.
